


Let me try to cool down your face a bit

by dev_chieftain



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the DA Kink Meme: Orsino is both clever and desperate. What if he realized that he would probably have more success in manipulating Hawke carnally?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me try to cool down your face a bit

**Author's Note:**

> When in doubt, name your story something from Jesus Christ: Superstar.
> 
> Orsino is definitely not as nice as Mary Magdalin though.

Heady wine. He has never liked parties, nor party wine, nor the Gallows, and tonight all three have him standing on the battlements, staring out over the water with huge dark eyes, thinking about his mother, his father, the Void. Cold water pricks at his toes. Those who can forget they are surrounded by the remnants of a murderous empire, weeping slaves sacrificed by the thousand to some horrid blood magic mindlessness are still inside, laughing, talking, dancing. Sebastian is somewhere in there, Aveline, Varric. Fenris might be. Merrill and Anders have wisely stayed away.

He has not tried to speak to Carver. He has desperately avoided Meredith, whose eyes are daggers, whose intense aura of power stills his breath and binds him to her. The sheer power of that woman-- no, he knows he must hide from her. She could make him believe in the goodness of his own Tranquility ritual if she tried. And he knows he would believe, because she is compelling, because she has lost so much.

Nothing like Orsino.

The wine--

"Serah Hawke?" Asks that soft, sinuous voice, and the very sound of it is like a slow caress up the back of Hawke's neck, testing for knots and tension coiled in shoulders, in spine. Startled, he turns to find that he is not so alone as all that. Here is Orsino, an older man (a refined, distinguished man, his mother would say) with a perfect casual kindness to him. A man that makes Hawke almost sorry he is not part of the circle, that they do not live in different times.

He has won a home he does not have to flee, here, but how long will it last? Anders always whines about imprisonment, Fenris about slavery, Isabela about freedom: do they none of them know what it's like to run forever? What a gift it would be, to be welcomed into the safety of the Circle, to finally rest, to know that he need no longer live life hunted.

But that's a disappointment to his Father, brother, to everyone. So the option is only a dream, but at least this moment is real.

"Hello, First Enchanter," he murmurs, unable to quite keep himself from blushing when he meets Orsino's eyes. Lovely things. What was it Isabela said to Fenris about elf eyes, it was-- "What brings you to me?"

Because no one speaks to Hawke of Kirkwall unless it is to ask a favor. He has learned this sad truth. He knows its burden.

Orsino's face is kind, his deft fingers quick. Before Hawke even knows what is happening, the elf is holding his hand, delicately massaging fingers, palm, wrist. He nearly melts. He gasps as if he had been burned. "Sweet _Maker_ \--"

  
With a laugh, Orsino turns his face up, catching Hawke's eyes, smiling almost roguishly. Hawke had never thought the man to have a sense of humor. "Only the First Enchanter yet, Serah Hawke, but I was wondering if I could do you this small service. I know--" and his expression becomes pinched, that more sorrowful sort Hawke is used to seeing. "I know tensions have been high lately, and I'm well-versed in the art of getting people to _relax._ "

What sort of people, Hawke wonders dazedly, does Orsino need to use such a gift for? There is the faintest trace of warmth, then cold in Orsino's touch, and Hawke is embarrassed by the slightly inebriated mumble that services as his answer. Mostly, he is focused on Orsino's fingers dancing up his arm to his shoulder. There they rest, as Orsino steps behind him, and the elf slowly reaches down, unlacing Hawke's robes.

"Will you let me do this for you, Hawke?"

He wants to be rational. Surely Orsino will feel he's owed some political loyalty in return. Now that all the knots he ignores have been brought to the forefront of his attention, though, the thought of refusing is almost physically painful. Hawke does not stop Orsino, and soon stands naked before the waves. When he speaks, it feels as though he does so from far away. "Yes."

Smooth fingers, deft fingers, trace cool up his back, while soft lips kiss his throat. _What's happening?_ he wonders drowsily, sinking back into Orsino's touch, into the soothing sensation of heat that lingers where ever he is touched, once the ice fades. He means to give it voice, but the protest dies on his tongue when Orsino leans in, plundering his mouth with a hot and urgent mouth.

Something is off here, but he can't think what. Must be the wine.

Orsino murmurs something Hawke can't hear, exactly, and lays him on his stomach on the cool stone. Now, he begins the massage in earnest: _pain_ , and then release of tension and the almost poignant lingering ache of muscles ground by expert fingers. If Hawke is coherent, it is news to him. He would tell anyone anything they wanted to know in this state. Questions roll through his mind, and he docilely answers them. Bliss. Everything is just pure, unadulterated--

Abruptly, Hawke jerks out of a daydream ( _daydream?_ really?) to find himself propped against a stone column at the edge of the Gallows. The party still goes on behind him, but judging from how stiff and cold he feels, it's been almost an hour, maybe more since he left.

Cursing softly, he rolls his shoulders, turning towards what he'd left behind with a sullen reluctance. Well, now that he's gone and had a fantasy to ensure he's never quite calm around the _First Enchanter_ again, he might as well mingle. Good reason to avoid Orsino as studiously as he avoids Meredith.

When the Champion leaves, Orsino turns over the slender dagger in his palm before returning it to its place on his belt. Not tonight.

But if need be, soon.


End file.
